


Brave Soldier Boy (Forever Home)

by Seeking7



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aangst?, Angst, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Iroh (Avatar) loves Tea, Iroh was a good uncle and even better dad, POV Iroh (Avatar), but he doesn't believe it, or should i say, thats a kneeslapper right there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25501225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeking7/pseuds/Seeking7
Summary: Iroh's only son had been dead for decades. Coupled with the fact that the world was finally at peace, his nephew was healthy, and the Jasmine Dragon was now considered the best tea shop in the Earth Kingdom, there should be no reason for him to continue grieving.But the small, covered table at the back of his tea shop that Iroh jokes is "permanently reserved for the spirits" may have more of a story to it.(aka: Iroh misses Lu Ten, and Lu Ten misses Iroh)
Relationships: Iroh & Lu Ten
Comments: 35
Kudos: 120





	Brave Soldier Boy (Forever Home)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! This is my first fanfic for the ATLA fandom! I hope you all enjoy this small, angsty, Iroh-centric fic. :D

It was raining in Ba Sing Se. 

The rain thrummed off the thatched roofs of Lower Ring huts and the golden tiles of Upper Ring mansions. It soaked laundry that had been left out to dry and patio furniture forgotten outside, puddling in dirt roads and cobblestone streets. Water slid from the boots of sleeping guardsmen and the toes of little children who refused to sit inside, eyes wide as they took in the downpour.

Iroh smiled as the rain sprinkled on his face. His grey beard grew heavy and wet, beading with droplets and soaking the green fabric of his robes. The streets were empty. Windows were shuttered and local businesses had closed up early. Iroh found himself relishing the unusual silence, unperturbed by the cold breeze and grey clouds. It was almost like a birthday gift from the heavens. 

“Iroh, Iroh! Iroh, can you hear me? Wait up!” 

A pale, wiry figure, wrapped in the traditional emerald robes of Earth Kingdom nobility, vaulted over a garden gate and sidled up to the old man. Iroh smiled at the sight of the teenager’s familiar face.

“Oh, Weimin! How nice to see you. I was beginning to think that I was the only one who enjoys a little rain.” 

The boy smiled uneasily, face pale from spending far too many hours indoors and eyes glinting restlessly for the same reason. 

“It’s nice to see you, too,” Weimin began, “but I don’t think that the rain is going to stay little for very long. Mom says it smells like a storm. She wanted me to ask you if you would like to stay the night with us.” The teenager looked at Iroh’s soft but unconvinced expression and snorted. Weimin clearly hadn’t expected anything else, but his words took on a pleading tone nonetheless. “You can leave as soon as the weather gets better, but it’s not a good idea to walk all the way home in the rain. You could get sick, and on your birthday too! You’re not even wearing a hat!”

“Thank you, Weimin. Your concern is touching, but the Jasmine Dragon isn’t far. A little bit of a sprinkle isn’t a problem, even on my birthday. And I don’t need a hat. Do  _ you _ wear a hat in the shower?” 

“No? What does that have to do with anything?” Weimin asked. 

“My friend, open your eyes. Rain is nothing more than a free hair wash from the heavens!” 

“I was wrong. I think you’ve already gotten sick.” 

“Oh, Weimin, I only jest,” Iroh said as he patted the boy on the shoulder. “I just enjoy the feeling of the rain on my face. And anyway, I have an important meeting tonight that I can’t miss. But thank you for the offer, my friend.” 

A mischievous smile crept onto Weimin’s face, and he casually brushed aside his black bangs. “Even if I told you that Dad cooked roast duck for us tonight, and that we just so happen to have an extra portion laid out, you  _ still _ won’t be able to come?” 

Iroh’s eyes grew huge. The internal turmoil the question undoubtedly caused him was almost audible from the desperate look in his eyes. Weimin was about ready to bathe in his victory when Iroh wiped the moony look from his face.

“I see that you are trying to outsmart me, young man. And in any other situation, it would have worked. You know me too well. But, really, I can’t.” 

Weimin’s features fell in anticipated disappointment. “This meeting of yours must be really important, huh?” 

“It most certainly is. But,” Iroh said, letting the letters drag out in a roguish way he’d learned from the local teenagers, “I wouldn't object to a takeaway box of your father’s famous roast duck.” 

The teenager’s eyebrows flickered upwards in surprise only to flutter back down. He scrunched up his lips and gave Iroh a characteristically petulant pout. “I see that you’ve outsmarted me, old man.” 

“I always will,” Iroh said, a humble grin on his face. Weimin snorted in poorly-veiled amusement before dashing down the cobblestone street. 

“I’ll be back quickly! Find somewhere dry to wait, won’t you?” Weimin called behind him.

“Of course!” Iroh muttered, making a move to stand under an overhanging roof and grinning obediently at the teenager’s retreating form. He sighed as soon as Weimin was out of sight and stepped back out into the rain, staring at the moon and the spray of stars. 

He hummed to himself as the rain fell down harder. 

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼ ✿✿✿✿✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

The Jasmine Dragon’s heavy mahogany door opened without a squeak. Iroh propped it open with his foot as he bumbled inside, grunting as he strained to keep hold of the covered hot pot and vegetables he carried in his arms. As he set his burden down on the nearest table, the door slammed shut and plunged the empty tea house in near-total darkness. Iroh peeled off his wet coat and draped it over a chair as he debated whether or not it would be worth firebending the overhead lanterns back to life. Moonlight streamed through the tea house’s frosted windows as if to assert it was more than enough, and Iroh nodded in tacit agreement with the Moon Spirit’s suggestion. 

Still waiting for his eyes to adjust to the din, Iroh carried the steaming pot of roast duck to the back kitchen and set a pot of water to boil. His mind began to wander as he changed into the fluffiest robe he had. The chieftain of the Southern Water Tribe -- what was his name again? Haku Lei? -- had gifted him the extravagant wolf pelt during their first official meeting. His swordsman son had insisted it was an important, ritualistic garment that allegedly had ties to the Spirit World. Someone else had chimed in, saying that it was far less spiritual and far more of a symbol of peace between warring tribes. The meeting had descended into polite chaos afterwards, and even after it was over, nobody could agree on what the pelt symbolized. 

Iroh just thought that it was really neat. 

He pulled on the pelt and shivered with happiness. Part of him was confident that it had ties to the Spirit World: how else could a simple garment be so beautifully warm and fluffy? The kettle puffed as Iroh made his way over to a covered table in the far corner of the tea house. 

It was a sad little thing, tucked so far into the corner and so close to the window that it was always a little bit too cold. Even though the Jasmine Dragon had been open for years, nobody had ever sat at that table. It remained permanently covered, “reserved for the spirits,” Iroh had often jokingly explained, and as time passed, the locals’ curiosity waned. People had stopped wondering why Iroh had never removed the table, or why no dust ever collected on the sheet’s top, or why only one of the two chairs had grown brassy and smooth with use. These days, the ever-covered table was almost as much of an unquestioned presence in the tea house as Iroh himself. 

Iroh pulled the sheet off the table and wiped down the surface with his hand. It was spotless, as always, but it still felt nice to ensure that it was so. The moonlight reflected off the smooth, wooden surface, and Iroh felt his mind wandering back down a path it had lost itself in many times before. 

The kettle let out a frustrated scream from the kitchen, and Iroh blinked quickly and dashed to its attention. He brought out his favorite teapot, a squat, brown one that his nephew often claimed looked more like a toad, and set to preparing a pot of jasmine tea. As the tea steeped, Iroh set the teapot on a tray along with twin cups, saucers, and plates, proceeding to totter uneasily over to the now-uncovered table. It was hard for him not to smile as he set the tray down and placed a generous helping of roast duck on both plates, even with the cool air seeping through the windows and under the floorboards, and it was only a few more moments until his lonesome tea party was set up. 

Moonlight puddled onto the table as Iroh took a seat and observed the scene in front of him. Thick puffs of steam spewed out of the teapot’s spout, twirling in tandem with the incense candle in the middle of the table. The flame was so small it was almost invisible -- it would have taken no energy from Iroh to firebend a stronger spark into being, but he was content with watching the little wisp dance on the wick. Two steaming plates of roast duck sat adjacent from each other, one in front of Iroh and one in front of the unoccupied chair across from him, flanked by twin cups. 

“I knew we would be eating well tonight,” Iroh began, “but I didn’t expect to have roast duck on the menu! We got lucky, didn’t we, Lu Ten?” 

Silence. 

The flames on top of the candle flickered and scattered shadows across the table.

“And look what else I’ve got, jasmine tea! I assumed you were getting tired of having ginseng every night, so I made your favorite instead. And none of that cheap stuff they bring in from Gaoling. This is the real deal, each blossom was plucked from Fire Lord Zuko’s own jasmine tree and dried by my firebending. I can assure you that it’s the most delicious tea you’ll ever drink. Here, let me pour you a cup.” 

Iroh poured the amber drink into the cup opposite from him until it reached the halfway point.

“If you want a refill, let me know. I know how you don’t like to have an entire cup when you’re eating, but don’t feel shy to ask for more.” The rain beat against the window as Iroh poked at his roast duck with his chopsticks. “Hmmm. I should have put this into the oven. I think the edges got a little bit cold while it was sitting here. No matter. Here, Lu, let me warm it for you.” 

Iroh reached across the table and pulled the untouched plate towards him, hovering a hand above it as a small flame flickered to life. He wafted his palm back and forth over the brown meat and grinned happily when it started to sizzle. 

“I remember, back when you were little, you always used to ask me which of the elements was the best. Even after all these years, I don’t have an answer, but tell me, can waterbenders, airbenders, or earthbenders ever hope for the ability to heat cold duck on the spot?” 

With a satisfied flourish, Iroh slid the plate back across the table and refocused on his own. The tea house was silent aside from the munching and slurping of its proprietor. Whips of wind slapped against the window and thudded against the walls, and the fine porcelain cups shook. 

“It seems like the storm Weimin’s mom was worried about has finally made its way to the city,” Iroh said between bites, “I hope it doesn’t blow away my laundry. It was already enough work to wash it and set it out. If I have to spend all morning tomorrow looking for my underwear I’m going to...what’s that phrase Zuko always says? Throw fingers with Agni?” Grey eyebrows cinched together in confusion. “No, no, that’s not it.” 

Thunder boomed outside, and the rain fell harder. 

“Ah, you’re right! Throw hands! Throw hands with Agni. That’s it. You’ve always had a knack for these things, Lu. But what does it mean? I’ve asked Zuko and all of his friends and none of them could explain. I hope it’s not anything vulgar. I’m sure you remember how much of a penchant Zuko had for bad words, even when he was just a kid. Take a boy to the naval shipyard for only one day and he’ll come back knowing every swear in existence, I tell you. And spending three years at sea only made everything worse. Those sailors swore with every breath, half the time I couldn’t tell if Zuko was writing poetry or cursing!” A cunning smile slid onto Iroh’s face, and he set his chopsticks down on his plate. “Listen to me, Lu Ten, I’m going to tell you something very bad, and you must promise that you won’t tell anyone.”

The wood of Iroh’s chair squeaked as he leaned forward and cupped a mouth around his hands as if he was a schoolgirl telling a dirty secret.

“Even taking into account how much I love your cousin, I can’t stand his cursing! So unbecoming of the Fire Lord, isn’t it? I know he can do better.” Iroh settled back in his chair and traced his chopsticks around the rim of his empty plate. “I say that because I’ve seen him do better. He never swears when the Avatar is around, but I don’t know if that’s out of respect or fear or because the Avatar is barely a teenager and still blushes when anyone says the word ‘stupid.’” 

Rain hissed against the window. The wind outside had begun to die down, and the candle’s flame swelled and flickered uneasily.. Iroh’s fidgeting grew more anxious. His eyes glanced up to the empty chair in front of him, the untouched plate, and the half-full cup of tea. The cheap, wooden chopsticks sat undisturbed by the plate, unseparated and silent. 

“Enough about me. Tell me, my son, how have you been?” 

Silence. 

It was getting harder for Iroh to keep smiling. 

“Have you met any interesting spirits? Played any good games of Pai Sho?” 

Silence. 

The tea house felt much bigger than usual. 

“Do you remember your favorite childhood lullaby?” Iroh blurted out. “I added a few more lines to it. They’re not the best, but I tried my hardest. Here, let me sing them for you. I’ll have to start from the beginning for it to make sense, so bear with me.” 

He fiddled with the folds of his coat and pulled out a small, worn piece of paper. 

_ “Leaves from the vine  _

_ Falling so slow  _

_ Like fragile, tiny shells  _

_ Drifting in the foam  _

_ Little soldier boy  _

_ Come marching home  _

_ Brave soldier boy  _

_ Comes marching home…”  _

Iroh’s facade cracked. He hung his head in his hands and pressed his fingers against his eyes, doing his best to keep his breathing as slow and stoic as possible. 

It didn’t work. 

It started out quietly. First it was only the soundless sobs that had become a familiar companion over the past decade. Iroh rocked quietly back and forth, begging himself to pull it together and to wipe away the tears. It was when the candle finally snuffed itself out that Iroh broke. 

“I-I can’t. My son, I’m so sorry.”

Iroh heaved a broken breath and pressed the heel of his hand to his mouth. 

“I’m so so sorry. I should have yelled at you less. I should have played with you more. I should have spent more time with you. I should have told you that I loved you more often.” 

He shut his eyes. The moonlight illuminated the sheet of tears on his face.

“I should have protected you. I should have fought for you. I should have carried you here. I should have carried you  _ home _ . Why is it that you had to die for me to see how wrong I was? How pathetic is it that I try to make up for lost time by spending each night sitting at this empty table, wishing that I did something,  _ anything,  _ differently?” 

Rain dripped against the window, trickling sadly against the frosted glass as if they were the moon’s own tears. Iroh’s cries echoed against the walls, empty and forlorn. 

_ “Leaves from the vine…”  _

Iroh’s eyes flew open. That voice.

_ That voice.  _

It wasn’t his. It wasn’t his, it was-- 

“Lu Ten?” Iroh heard himself whisper. 

Rain poured. Thunder crackled. Tears fell. 

And the voice sang.

_ “Leaves from the vine” _

_ All on the floor _

_ Like fragile, tiny smiles  _

_ From long ago  _

_ Little soldier boy  _

_ Sleeps in the foam _

_ Brave soldier boy  _

_ Forever home.”  _

The candle flickered back to life. 

Iroh’s eyes flew open on their own accord, searching for someone he knew wasn’t there, who would never be there, who had died years and years ago and co---

The first hints of sunrise slipped through the window, illuminating the impossible scene in front of Iroh. 

Lu Ten, his skin glimmering with the faded, ethereal blue of all long-dead spirits, smiled from his seat across the table. 

His ghostly hands reached out to wrap around Iroh’s calloused ones, holding them as one would a tiny, fragile seashell. A single tear traveled down his cheek, and his sleepy, dark eyes glistened. 

“My beloved Lu Ten,” Iroh whispered, fingers tightening around Lu Ten’s own. His voice shook with disbelief. “You’re home. You’re finally home.” 

“I’ve always been home. I never left.” 

Iroh’s beard grew wet with tears, and he reached out to wrap his son in his arms. His arms closed around nothing. The sunlight grew brighter, finally overpowering the weak candlelight and the moon’s last rays, and Lu Ten’s spirit vanished in a cloud of blue. 

Despite Iroh’s stifled hiccups, his son’s soft voice still lingered in the air. 

“Happy birthday, Dad. If only I could have helped  _ you _ .” 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! If you have any thoughts, ideas, or questions, don't be afraid to leave a comment below! I reply to every comment I get and appreciate it to the moon and back. <3


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